But I am not talking about bugs. No, the subject of today’s post is a mouse. We think. We really have nothing to go on other than a small fur-lined nest chewed into a box of plastic food bags. No squeaking sounds. No pitter-patter of teensy feet. We have come to this conclusion only by process of elimination. It cannot be one of our rats because they are still installed at the country’s best rolling luxury pet spa, also known as the Buskirk’s RV. It couldn’t have been the visiting Bockers because that would have just been weird. It is highly unlikely it could be spiders because they cannot chew through plastic nor do they line nests with what looks like bison fur, and I thank God for that one because if they did I would not hesitate to move to Saturn.
In all honesty, this mouse chose his RV well. He moved in with a family with soft hearts for the “least of these.” All five of us share an affinity for creatures considered by most to be vermin, pests or nuisances. We have owned mice, snakes, and rats. We get a kick out finding a lizard in the bathtub. We have attempted to rescue opossums (did not end well). We follow around chipmunks, gophers, and squirrels and buy souvenir t-shirts featuring ravens. When others have long grown tired of marmots, we can be seen shooting photos for our planned coffee table book or marmot blog post (that was your warning). Kristin once said, “I like seagulls so much that when I grow up I might name a business after one, you know, like ‘Seagull Plumbing.’”
But what do you do about a mouse that has taken up residence in your RV? Surely in a rig the size of Manhattan there is room for all of us, but this could go downhill in many ways I’d prefer not to imagine. It could be rabid or carry hantavirus. It could chew through electrical wiring and cause a fire. It could fight with the rats (assuming we can convince them to come home from Pet-topia). It could - clutch the pearls! - eat the S’mores supplies!!!
If he’s really lucky, he might find himself beneath the Buskirks.